[killer mike] it’s the mister fo fifth told em cookin c*ke with baking soda dub roller, pro smoker wood gripper, pistol whipper. muck a n*gg* if he figure f**kin with my figures. makes him richer, he should know. instead, it’ll make him better than a money f**kin with my money. get yo money stacked right outta sunday school on a bright and sunny sunday. this ain’t funny. i ain’t jokin bout my c*ke and package come up shorter. might kidnap yo wife and daughter. bury them down deep in georgia. no das af**kin lawyer prosecutin witnesses. we excutin, start the shootin, start the lukin, start the violence, start a riot. get this motherf*cker crunker, crunk as you can get it. p*ss that dro, i’m a hit it. outta line, we gon spit it, spit it vivid, cause i live it. you don’t walk it, you just talk it. pistol totin, and a loadin. that’s how smokin got this dope and i aint hopin, steady slangin right on yo trappa block. take your track, set up shop. try and stop (pop pop pop).

[chorus]

[chamillionaire] hey hey, this ain’t about an image. this ain’t about a gimmick. p**sys stand to the side. now the game got a menace. i d*mn seen a city that i think is not the realest. we b*mmin on his *ss. he ain’t finishin his sentence. i only got a minute. i feelin about a digit. you lookin at a n*gg* like i ain’t about to get it. i’m lookin at the money like i ain’t about to finish. you need to mind your business. if you ain’t about your business. i’m a h-town soldier. i’m a come with the trunk up yeah i’m a gon remind ya. if you ain’t gettin it you shoulda told ya father. n*gg* chamillionaire never show no problems. you don’t want no problem (problem). get em g’ed shoulda let the fo fo remind em. ya you tip on the ride em. i be ridin fo fos on the door beside em. 6′ 6″ tall lookin like he a center. 10 tatoos lookin like he a killa. skinny *ss n*gg*s don’t fight with a n*gg*. pull out a billfold, put a price on a n*gg*. i have this camp fo put a knife in a n*gg*. from the car to his pocket then right in your liver. was a big boy that put a slice in the middle. ya head fast think you hold a mike with the killa. don’t mess with the south homie, thats a dream, hallucinate or imagining so. double xl with the gats i mean, keep somethin ready to blow in the magazine. and you know that southern cash is mean. franklins frown for me when i stash my cream. pull up in candy paint that match my green. killer, pastor, and koopa are the master machine.

[chorus]

[pastor troy] y’all know me, it’s pt. well i hunt and all of that, black on black, with black tip. i can’t help but represent. i’m not content, i want more. who the f**k you take me for? studio rappers not the fortay. i drop my top and bust my ak. no mo play, n*gg* nga. yeah, that’s a cl*ssic. ridin in the cl*ssic. tote a mill, and i blast em. send em to the casket. send em to the morgue. slap me a n*gg* cause i’m motherf**kin bored. chamillionaire, i camoflouge in my surrounding. get my desert e’s and get to motherf**kin poundin. up and down the streets, throwin heat, out the driver’s seat, ridin to the beat, tell them n*gg* just lay weak.